Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Rain Doesn't Grieve ❯ 20 ( Chapter 20 )

20

 

shikirou kasanete
kimi no kage, hiroiatsume

 

Omi ~ Call

 

“I see. No, no, I quite understand. We'll replace those surveillance cameras right away. Thank you.” I hung up the phone and stared at it. My mood was mingled annoyance and a weird kind of vindication.

 

The film had mysteriously degraded in the six hours between the first phone call and this one. Furthermore, Ty-so Security had no record of the attempted break-in. The guard who had called me had just been suspended for drinking on the job; he couldn't confirm a thing from his initial report.

 

I leaned on my cane and made my way to the kitchen, intent on feeding myself before giving matters any more thought. As it was, the whirling paranoia threatened to drag me under well before I started the water for tea.

 

It was him, I knew it was. I hadn't imagined the phone call at two this morning, and I was reasonably sure no one had gotten to me in the meantime. My forehead prickled with sweat. I didn't want to face this weirdness alone, but I had no idea who to invite to share it with me.

 

Manx didn't know about Schwarz, not that they had survived and probably not about their apparent odd abilities. Again I remembered the look on the Schwarz agent's face as I lay in the sand, before he hurried away to erase his tracks. He didn't want to be found. I didn't dare bring Manx into this; it would betray a trust that I wasn't prepared to risk, though I had no idea what it might mean.

 

I wanted to call Yohji, but he didn't want to come back to Kritiker.

 

I wanted to call Ken, but he wasn't even in the country yet.

 

I wanted to call Aya. But with Takatori Reiji gone, Aya blamed Schwarz for everything that had befallen his family. Fury and rage had replaced honor, turning amethyst to blood. I couldn't hand Aya the life of the gaijin, no matter what he had done.

 

With some effort I shook off the past, and with a thin smile turned my thoughts to the future. Someone had either screwed up, or sent me a message. Either way, I knew something that somebody didn't want me knowing. Schwarz was still in Japan, and in the middle of something that affected Takatori if not Kritiker. And someone was erasing Schwarz's tracks, to an interesting degree.

 

All right then. The next move was mine, and I would make it a good one. If this break-in matter was a bluff, I was calling - literally. I raised my phone and selected a number from its memory, a number I had never used before. At this point it didn't matter if the line were secure: in fact, let them listen.

 

“Thank you for calling Interpol. Please hold.”

 

 

Yohji ~ Host

 

“Hope you like noodles for breakfast,” I said as I brought Schuldig a cup of coffee and a glass of juice. He seemed to be tangled up in the bathrobe, his face bright with embarrassment. “You all right?”

 

“Yeah, look, I'm sorry about this,” he mumbled, trying to get out of the bathrobe and not doing very well at it.

 

I set the drinks down and stripped the robe off him like he was a mannequin. The wet stain was unmistakable. Schuldig pulled the blanket across his lap as his face went true scarlet.

 

Laughing, I said, “That's all right, I pulled it out of the laundry basket anyway.” It amazed me that he could be so easily flustered. It made him even more appealing, in an unexpected way. Here he was, one-time tough guy, looking like an embarrassed teenager.

 

Correction: a badly beaten up embarrassed teenager. Carefully I unfastened the bandage holding his arm still, then flexed the elbow and shoulder as he tried not to wince. I told him to move it around some to keep it from locking up, and I reminded him to take his medicine on time. I wadded up the robe and the bandage and tossed them in the bathroom before heading to my own room to find him some clothes. He'd need something loose-fitting to get over that arm… The first thing that came to mind was one of my favorite party shirts, a black midi that seemed to draw every eye to my belly. A grin snuck over me as I imagined how my suddenly shy guest would look in it. I found some compatible pants he could get into without using two hands, and called it good.

 

Schuldig had made it to the bathroom, which under the circumstances was no mean feat. He seemed to have a barbiturate hangover and didn't look too steady. Still, he needed some dignity. I'd listen for any problems, but I wasn't going to intrude. I set the clothes by the sink as I walked past. “See if these fit. I have to finish breakfast.”

 

As I scooped noodles into our bowls, I saw Schuldig limping back to the couch. He'd managed to get into the shirt all right, though he kept his damaged arm tucked against his chest. If he hadn't been visibly injured, he'd have looked totally adorable in my clothes. Hell, even wounded he was a very attractive man. I hid my smile as best I could and carried our breakfast to the living room.

 

I brought him a fork with his bowl, since his business hand was basically useless. He worked his way through the noodles with methodical determination. At least his appetite wasn't off, I thought to myself, then smiled. Were any of my thoughts truly to myself around this guy?

 

“I have to hurry,” Schuldig mumbled around a mouthful, “I have to get back.”

 

“Hang on, there.” I gave him a serious look. “You're not going anywhere like that. It'd be cruel of me to let you out that door. The codeine's worn off by now. Can't you just talk to them from here?”

 

He shook his head. “Still too risky.”

 

I sighed, wanting to help but not understanding his world well enough. “I don't get it,” I confessed. “You said it's like a radio, is it something they can intercept? The movies always have it as a closed-circuit kind of thing.”

 

“Well, when it's working right, it's closed,” Schuldig growled, his tone frustrated.

 

“Oh, so instead of having a private channel, it's like a cell phone. Anyone with the right kind of scanner can pick it up? Like a stronger telepath?” As I said this, I sent a little prayer to the gods of the foolhardy that my own cell phone calls hadn't been noticed. It was getting harder and harder to keep all the bases covered.

 

“Basically,” Schuldig said with a vague nod. “It's hard to pinpoint location, but there's a chance I'd lead them right to the team, and it's a risk I'm not ready to take.”

 

Then the simple answer presented itself, and I nearly smacked my forehead in dumb surprise. “Don't they have a phone?”

 

“Nope,” Schuldig replied, his tone mildly disgusted. “Not that I'm authorized to use, even if I did know the number. Mr. Duct Tape on the Windows can't have any ringing telephones, either.”

 

“Ch!”

 

Schuldig laughed. “No shit! Crawford works in mysterious ways.”

 

In the momentary silence I lit up two cigarettes and handed him one, then asked, “Were you dreaming about him?”

 

“Um, no, not exactly,” he hedged, his cheeks coloring.

 

“Sorry, had to ask,” I said with a grin. “You put on a pretty good show, my friend.”

 

Again he surprised me with a show of near virginal fluster. Schuldig looked away from me and said, “Sell tickets next time.”

 

“I might,” I murmured, eyes fixed on his pout. With his face flushed, his lips looked downright delightful.

 

The trill of my cell phone interrupted the moment. “Hai.”

 

“Neko-yo, got your goods. Only news out there, yakuza boy and his mistress got themselves a love nest. He's keeping her hid real good. Expensive, Euro, real class, maybe a model. Contraband, most definitely. Two bodyguards, whole bunch of eyes on the street. They're locked in tight. I'd stay clear if I was you.”

 

I switched to Cantonese, not particularly wanting Schuldig to catch what I told my contact. These guys knew the rival dialects, so it was an easy choice. “Runaway contraband, actually. I hear she's hiding out with her daddy, okay? Tell them she's safe.” Switching back to Japanese I told him “thank you” and hung up. Turning toward my guest, I said, “It's cool, man. They're okay.”

 

Schuldig blinked. “Beg pardon?”

 

I grinned, feeling decidedly superior for the moment. “I've got street contacts myself. I made a few calls while you were sleeping. It wasn't hard to get a message through.”

 

The red-head glared a little. “Wait, wait. Are you telling me that you're in with the yakuza?”

 

I tried to put him at ease without giving him any more information than I had to. Better to keep a few things back, even from my new friend. “Well, not exactly, but as a detective I did have a fair number of informants, and you never know when they might come in handy. I sort of kept a few on retainer. Word on the street is the son of a high-level crime lord is shacked up with his mistress not far from here. Seems she's quite the looker. Tall, leggy.” I grinned at him, unable to resist embellishing the story a little. “European. Red hair. Smokes like a chimney.”

 

Schuldig seemed to pause and just stare at his cigarette as if my words only barely made sense. Then he looked sideways at me through his hair and said, “Nice.”

 

Damn, he looked good like that! I cleared my throat and tried to get back on topic. “Hey, it keeps everyone away from you guys. No questions. They've got the whole area locked down tighter than an exclusive girl's school.” I took a drag on my own cigarette, still grinning. “And if anyone goes poking their nose in, they're going to find a couple hundred armed street thugs just itching for some action. Your Crawford is a shrewd player, my friend, with or without a phone.”

 

“So Nagi made it all right?” he asked, voice low.

 

I leaned back and blew smoke at the ceiling. “Well, from what you said, if he hadn't gotten back safely then none of them would be there, right? That caller told me that it's still business as usual, so apparently nothing has changed except your being here. I had my contact drop hints that the mistress is hiding out with a chaperone until the situation cools down a little.”

 

Schuldig seemed to relax, but only slightly. He regarded me with sharp eyes and asked, “If you were me, how long would you hide out before going back?”

 

“I'd give it a full day, anyway. Wait till you can walk a straight line.” I studied the way he was sitting, stiff and pained. His shoulder was still a wreck, would probably stay that way for a couple of weeks. Granted, he couldn't sit still that long, but he wasn't in any condition to go back out there just yet. Dead serious, I added, “Wait till you can run or fight, if you have to.”

 

The red-head sighed and looked down. He flexed his right arm, winced. “So I guess you're stuck with me for a few more hours, anyway. That cool with you?”

 

“No problem, Schuldig. I have food, cigarettes, medicine, anything you need to get your shit together. Like I said, I won't let you out that door until you're functional.” I realized what I'd just said, and added, “And I don't mean like that.”

 

Schuldig laughed brightly in spite of his discomfort. “Right, right!”

 

We sat together on the sofa, enjoying the silence and our smokes for a couple of minutes. I'd been wanting to ask him something, confirm a suspicion I'd had, and this was probably as good a time as any to find out; I didn't pause to consider my motives. “So, Schuldig, you're gay, right?”

 

He turned his face away and mumbled, “What brought that up?”

 

Touchy response - painful question? Interesting. “Oh, I was about to ask you when the phone rang,” I said, trying to keep it light. “You're with Crawford?”

 

“Oh. That.” Schuldig stared at his hands and said nothing for several moments.

 

I hadn't intended to make him feel so awkward. “Gay is cool,” I said, hoping to regain his trust. “Me, I go all ways.”

 

“All? How so?” Schuldig asked, his mind no doubt wandering into hentai territory.

 

The answer came out as easily as if I'd been waiting for someone to tell. Maybe I had been. “I love women, and I love men. Totally, with no reservations: never had use for the damn things. But I have pretty strict standards. It has to be special, no matter who it's with.” Memories of loves past reminded me of what I had to say next. “Usually it's only one night. But for that night, it's real.”

 

Schuldig watched me closely, as if testing for truth in my words.

 

My cigarette kept time in spite of me, the fire hissing closer to my skin.

 

Schuldig fidgeted and murmured, “I guess you could call me gay.” He took a sip of nicotine, let the smoke out slowly.

 

The half-truth brought me out of my reverie before my own cigarette could burn my fingers. “You don't like women?” I asked, curious what he was leaving out, and why.

 

“Let's just say, I won't with women.”

 

End of discussion, then. I stubbed out my smoke and changed the subject. “How are you feeling? Need anything?”

 

“Nah, I'm good.”

 

“Well, since you're here, may as well show you around.” I helped him up, then made a grand gesture and said, “Welcome to my humble home. Here's the TV, help yourself. The remote lives here - don't lose it! The windows are tinted with safety blinds, so don't worry about being seen unless you lean right up close to the glass.” I showed Schuldig the kitchen and left him there to rummage for a couple of minutes. “Feel free to feed yourself. I'd avoid the takeout box in the back of the fridge, I don't remember when I bought that.”

 

As he busied himself poking around in my kitchen, I set about unstringing my razor-wire traps. Wouldn't do to have him run afoul of one - talk about adding insult to injury!

 

“So this is how normal folk live!” Schuldig murmured, sounding like he was right behind me.

 

But when I turned to answer him, I saw that he was still in the kitchen. “Did you say something?” I called, slightly uncertain now that I had heard any commentary at all.

 

“Uh, no,” he stammered. Schuldig closed the cupboard door and joined me in the living room again. His gaze seemed drawn to my lonely orchid. He reached out his hand and lightly stroked the stem, then cupped the blossom with his fingertips. “What's this?”

 

“Cattelya orchid.”

 

“I didn't know you could grow them in an apartment.” He sounded impressed.

 

“They're not that hard.” I turned the dish a little. “You have to keep turning them or they'll lean toward the sunlight.”

 

“So being a florist is like being a detective? Something you just can't stop doing?”

 

I smiled sadly, fingers caressing the petals. There were too many things in my life I couldn't seem to just stop doing, no matter how hard I might wish otherwise.

 

Snapping out of my brief melancholy, I told him, “You can help yourself to some clothes, too. If any of them fit.” I rummaged through my bedroom to find some things he might be able to use. I didn't know if he'd accept the offer, but the man needed something more than a midi and a pair of workout pants, and his own clothes had a date with the incinerator. In any case, he'd need footwear; I came back to the living room with a pair of sneakers and some socks. “Here, try these. Don't know if you noticed, but your shoes are trashed, too.”

 

“I'm not surprised,” Schuldig muttered. “For the record, I don't recommend climbing down a thorny vine in the middle of the night. Or any other time, for that matter.” He took the sneakers and headed back to the sofa. I nearly laughed as he cranked down the laces. “Damn, Kudou! You have big feet,” he grumbled, trying to get a workable fit from them.

 

“Not really, they actually match my height,” I said, sprawling on the sofa and lighting a cigarette. “Your feet are just really narrow, that's all. So, what do you do in your off time, Schwarz?” I asked, reaching for the TV remote.

 

“Off time? What's that?” he bantered with a grin. “Back in the day, I'd try to watch a movie with Farfarello, until Crawford turned off the TV, things like that.”

 

“What, he wouldn't let you guys rot your brains? It's okay, I've got satellite.”

 

Schuldig laughed, a delightful sound. “No, you see, Crawford was always worried that Far would watch some movie and turn violent or something. Not that he trusted me to keep it from happening, either. I figured, Far was unpredictable at the best of times, may as well catch some cheap entertainment.” I found myself scowling at an old memory, and Schuldig frowned. “That didn't sound good, did it. I'm sorry, man.”

 

“No, no, it's all right,” I whispered. “What's done is done.”

 

Schuldig sighed and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. “Done and gone, all of it. Brave new world, all that crap.” He looked at me and asked, “Do you think they succeeded, Kudou? Did they bring about the birth of a new age, and we're just limping along in a dream of the past?”

 

I considered this, then shook my head. “No, I think it's deeper than that. Karma. The law of consequences.”

 

“I can't follow that stuff. You should talk to Farfarello.”

 

When someone claims they don't understand a philosophy, it usually means it unnerves them too much to dwell on it. The cool and collected German was spooked by the concept of karma? What an intriguing thought. I felt myself smile, and I wondered for a moment what sort of purpose he might have here. Clearly an unexpected one, since he was a classic non-believer. Was he paying a debt, or creating one?

 

And which was I?

 

 

 

 

A/N:

shikirou kasanete
kimi no kage, hiroiatsume

 

The mirages pile up

Your shadows, I collect them

 

“Tsuki no Uta (The Song of the Moon)” - Gackt Crescent

 

Omi ~ Call

“Thank you for calling Interpol. Please hold.” - Okay, for the record: I didn't actually call Interpol to see how they might answer the phone. I like to think of this as poetic license - that's my story and I'm sticking to it. ^_^;

 

Yohji ~ Host

When Yohji speaks with his street contact in Cantonese, he is presuming that Schuldig doesn't know that language. Considering Schu's reputation as a slacker with the Japanese language, it's an easy assumption.